Fun with Fears!

Ok, so much of my life is wrapped up in fear these days that I thought I would have a little fun with it.  I figured maybe if I named them I might see how silly I’m being and get over it.  I mean, the fact is the baby is going to stick around or not stick around and what I think about it, or how calm or fearful I am, really has no effect whatsoever (having been raised in a belief system that insists our mind causes everything, I am having a hard time with this concept).  So, here goes:

1)    I was afraid to visit my friend this weekend (The Friend Who Uninentionally…you know what) because last time I visited her I had a miscarriage

2)    I was afraid to go to my bandleader’s house last night for dinner, because last time I went there I had a miscarriage

3)    I’m afraid to go register myself at Kaiser to get the ball rolling, because last time I did that I had a miscarriage

4)    I’m afraid to call the clinic to see if I can get my donor’s full profile for my files, because what if I have a miscarriage?

5)    I’m afraid to reserve a few more vials of “him” because this assumes there may be siblings when there may not even be one

6)    I’m afraid to buy myself a cool vintage baby book to replace the one I gave away out of sheer depression and hopelessness some years ago, because I’m afraid I’ll have a miscarriage and then it’ll show up in the mail and break my heart

7)    I’m afraid to google anything about caring for a newborn because I might have a miscarriage

8)    I’m afraid to buy myself anything baby or maternity related because I might have a miscarriage

9)    I’m afraid to tell anyone new, because last time I started telling new people I had a miscarriage

10) I’m afraid to make plans for the fall on the assumption that I’ll be pregnant, because I may not be

11) I’m afraid to make birth plans or think about how to handle advanced pregnancy because I might have a miscarriage

12) I’m afraid to go spend my Anthropologie gift card because buying clothes is kind of stupid right now because I don’t know what I’ll be able to fit into from now on – and what if I buy some skinny little thing and then I have a miscarriage?  Will I think, “well, at least I can wear this now”?

13) I’m afraid to look at my half-used box of tampons in the bathroom cabinet and think, “ha ha, won’t be needing you fuckers for a while,” because what if I have a miscarriage?

Here is what I’m not afraid of:

Lying on the couch and watching my Mad Men DVDs

Eating rice cakes and ginger chews

Blogging

Wiping myself for the kajillionth time and – hooray – not seeing anything red

You can see there is a bit of disparity in these lists.  But this is just where I’m at.  I think I’ll feel a tiny bit better when I hit the six week mark on Thursday.  I keep reminding myself how early things went wrong last time – I had that first bleed just two days after the positive test; I have now gone more than two weeks with no signs of anything being wrong.  Woke up to a huge wave of nausea this morning; tempered by ginger chews, Slim Fast, and rice cakes.  Boobs still sore as hell.  I have no reason in this moment to think anything is going wrong.  But I have so long to go before I can even see anything in there – at least another ten days, two weeks, something like that.  For all I know I’m carrying around an empty sac.  Oh, if only just getting pregnant automatically insured a healthy baby!  If only you weren’t granted with that joy only to have it cruelly snatched away!  I can’t even enjoy this time, can’t relax, can’t pat myself on the back.  It sucks.  I am just a ball of dread morning, noon, and night.

Had a bizarre and creepy dream last night that it was somehow law of the land that donor sperm can only come from convicted criminals.  I was on the way to the prison with a bunch of other choice moms to meet my donor, and was praying that he “hadn’t done anything that bad.”  That was it, that was the whole dream.  Can you imagine…?  I always thought it was kind of funny that sperm banks required their donors to be either engaged in a degree program, or working a solid, sexy job like EMT or fireman or something like that.  But then it occurred to me – who wants to choose some crazy homeless guy as their donor?  I mean, imagine the kind of junkies and freaks you’d get donating sperm if there were no restrictions?  Think about who gives blood, for chrissakes.  Do you really want to mingle your genes with those people?  Well, hell, considering the people I’ve dated, you can see why I was initially surprised that donors had to be held to such high standards.  At least half the men I’ve dated have had no job, no car, no money, and nowhere to live.  I think this kid definitely lucked out that his dad is a donor and not one of my old boyfriends.